Gospel Story Finder

How I pray that all who have loved then lost might know the reality of the Resurrection and have the unshakable knowledge that families can be forever. One such was a Major Sullivan Ballou, who, during the time of the American Civil War, wrote a touching letter to his wife—just one week before he was killed in the Battle of Bull Run. With me, feel the love of his soul, his trust in God, his courage, his faith.

“July 14, 1861
“Camp Clark, Washington
“My very dear Sarah:
“The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
“I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. … I am … perfectly willing … to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government. …
“Sarah, my love for you is deathless; it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
“The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive [me] my … faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness. …
“But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and the unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights … always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.”

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

Julia Awashish, a 17-year-old Native American from Quebec City, agrees with Marc. “We need to always remember the covenants we made at baptism,” she says. “The promises we have made to our Heavenly Father are the things that make us strong as members of the Church. It’s been six years since I joined the Church. I’m glad my mother and I joined, because it helps me so much when I have a problem to deal with, and it helps me to remember to be happy, because the gospel is a message of joy.”
Julia says that when she and her mother returned to visit relatives in their village of Obedjiwan, which is far to the north of Quebec, at first “there was a lot of gossip about us being Latter-day Saints. But now everyone has seen by our example that we are friendly, normal people, so they accept us just fine.”

Several years ago, the members of a teachers quorum decided to work together to do secret acts of kindness within their ward. It started when one or two of them fixed a broken bicycle for another quorum member without telling him they had been the ones to do it. When he eventually found out about their help, the quorum members decided to find others in their ward whom they could help anonymously. Because others soon became aware of the acts of kindness that were secretly being performed, they became known as the “ward phantoms.” Eventually, they had cards printed which they left as evidence that the “phantoms” had struck again, doing good and trying not to “get caught” at it. It was a long time before the ward finally figured out who had been at the root of these many good deeds of service.

Diana Borges (above in red) is the only Latter-day Saint in the private all-girls school she attends in her home town of Curitiba, Brazil. Being the only member at school can be a bit tough sometimes. But Diana has a secret weapon to keep her testimony strong and her spirits up: daily seminary attendance.
“Being together with my friends at seminary every day keeps me going,” she says. The other students in her seminary class (also above) agree. Since they all go to different schools, they cherish their time together.

Several years ago we took our grandchildren on an escorted tour of the Church printing facilities. There, all of us saw the missionary edition of the Book of Mormon coming off the delivery line—printed, bound, and trimmed, ready for reading. I told the grandchildren, “The operator says that you can remove one copy of the Book of Mormon to be your very own. You select the copy, and it will then be yours.”

Each removed one finished copy and expressed his or her love for the Book of Mormon.

I really don’t remember other events of that day, but I shall never forget the honest expressions of love for the Book of Mormon—expressions which came from the hearts of those children.

Illustration by Mitchell McAlevey
While working one day a few summers ago, I got the news that a good friend of mine passed away from suicide. I was shocked—I honestly didn’t know how to react. I remember sitting at my desk in silence, unable to think or do anything.
All sorts of thoughts and emotions came flooding in, leaving me confused. But I kept telling myself that I was OK and that I would get over it. The following months, however, brought an overwhelming wave of depression and sadness over me. There were many tears and sleepless nights. Some mornings, I couldn’t even get out of bed. I didn’t think my prayers were being answered or heard. Reading the scriptures felt flat and uninspiring. I felt hopeless and didn’t think things would get better.
For the longest time, I was afraid to talk to anyone about what I was feeling. People knew about my loss and would offer to talk or give support, but I always turned them down. “I don’t want to bother them,” I would think. “Besides, they have their own problems to worry about. Why would they care about mine?”
There was one Sunday where my grief seemed too much to bear. I couldn’t sit still during sacrament meeting. When the meeting finally finished, I bolted into the hallway to get out of the building. Just before I made it to the door, I ran into a woman in my ward who had lost a son to suicide years earlier. When we made eye contact, the Spirit told me it was time to say something about what I was feeling.
It was scary, but with a shaky voice I stopped her and asked, “Can I talk to you for a bit? I need help.”
She listened to me explain what had happened and how I was feeling. Then, without hesitation, she held my arm and looked at me with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that this is not your fault and that you are so loved,” she said.
We both couldn’t help but cry as we kept talking. For me, it felt like the clouds were parting. There was finally some sort of a light shining through on my life. Everything she said to me in the hallway that day was an answer to my prayers.
What I learned most from that moment was that sharing my feelings had finally allowed me to start healing. For some reason, I had convinced myself that I could face everything alone and that I didn’t need any help. Though I couldn’t see it, I was surrounded by people who loved me and wanted to help me.
I’ve learned that when we say that we are to be “of one heart and one mind” (Moses 7:18), it means that your heartaches are my heartaches and my pains are also your pains. It means not only giving help when needed but also being willing to receive help when we need it as well. Simply letting others help me is what made the difference and ultimately what led me to make a full mental recovery.
Now, a few years after this experience, I can honestly say that I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. With a lot of hard work, and ultimately by the grace of God, I have become someone stronger than I was before all this happened. Prayer, service, vulnerability, humility, therapy, countless blessings, and so much more have helped me get to where I am today. I owe a lot to Heavenly Father, my family, and my close friends for helping me through all this. How grateful I am that I reached out for help—it was a key to healing.

Mr. Shimon Peres called on us last Wednesday in the Church Administration Building. He is one of the elder statesmen of the world, the former prime minister of Israel. He has seen much of conflict and trouble in his time. He is a wise and able man who speaks with the spirit of a sage.

I asked him whether there was any solution to the great problems that constantly seem to divide the people of Israel and the Palestinians. He replied that of course there is. He said an interesting thing. As I recall, he said, “When we were Adam and Eve, we were all one. Is there any need for us to be divided into segments with hatred in our hearts one for another?”

He told a beautiful story that he said he got from a Muslim. The Muslim told of a Jewish rabbi who was conversing with two of his friends. The rabbi asked one of the men, “How do you know when the night is over and the day has begun?”

His friend replied, “When you look into the distance and can distinguish a sheep from a goat, then you know the night is over and the day has begun.”

The second was asked the same question. He replied, “When you look into the distance and can distinguish an olive tree from a fig tree, that is how you know.”

They then asked the rabbi how he could tell when the night is over and the day has begun. He thought for a time and then said, “When you look into the distance and see the face of a woman and you can say, ‘She is my sister.’ And when you look into the distance and see the face of a man and can say, ‘He is my brother.’ Then you will know the light has come.”

Think about that story for a minute. What a wonderful truth it tells.

There was one time when the chase crew didn’t quite make it on time, and the story of their rescue is a sure-to-be-told-tale at quorum get-togethers.
The chase crew, who were pulling a trailer that day, made a wrong turn down a long narrow lane with no room to turn around. By the time they had managed to back out, the balloon had already landed, and no one had been able to see where. While the chase crew searched, the balloon crew was waiting in a strawberry patch where they had landed. It seemed that a hundred people knew exactly where the balloon had come down, and a hundred people were absolutely wrong. Finally, almost two hours later, the bewildered searchers saw a little boy sitting on his bike with all the manly nonchalance of John Wayne on his horse.
“You see a balloon?”
“Yep.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yep.”
“Will you show us?”
“Yep.” And hunched over his banana seat, legs churning like pistons, the one-man cavalry led them to their stranded companions.

When I was growing up, my body struggled with gamma globulin anemia. I had a hard time fighting off germs, so I got sick a lot.
One night I woke up with painful earaches. They hurt so badly that I thought my head was going to explode! I remember my mother and father coming into my room. My mother sat on the side of the bed and cradled me in her arms. Then my father placed his hands on my head and gave me a priesthood blessing. In that blessing, He told me that my Father in Heaven knew me. He was aware of my pain. He would bless me to sleep through the rest of the night.
I soon relaxed, fell asleep, and slept through the night and late into the morning. When I woke up, my ears felt better. But it still took several years before I was completely healed from my illness.
Over the next several years, my father continued to give me priesthood blessings to give me strength. He taught me that those blessings were opportunities for Heavenly Father to speak to me. My sickness became a way for Heavenly Father to help my faith to grow.

A Laurel wrote of her desire to respond to President Hinckley’s words about missionary work. Her personal message was to be a missionary by being a better example to her friends. At first she found this difficult to do, but she didn’t give up. Finally, she changed her habits successfully.
She writes: “We got out of school early and all went to a friend’s house to watch a video. They wanted to watch one that was rated R and they said it wasn’t that bad. I was going to go along with it because I was sick of being the one to always be good. Luckily, one of the guys spoke up against it, refusing to watch it. I felt an overwhelming relief. But then they watched a PG-13 movie that was probably just as bad. I tried my hardest to talk them out of it, but couldn’t. I should have gone home, but didn’t. I regret it. That night in my prayers I promised the Lord to be a better example to my friends. Since then I’ve cut some words out of my speech. I’ve quit sluffing [skipping school], and some of my friends have stopped now too. I suggest better movies, and every time they choose something I’d rather not see, I leave.”

Kids from Cairns, Townsville, Charters Towers, and Mackay in Australia flocked to the famous Harbour as part of a big youth conference held recently.
Debra Croucher reports they played volleyball and softball and barbecued burgers on the beach. Then the groups gathered around a fire for a sing-along under the stars. Next day they bussed to Eungella National Park and had workshop discussion groups, a dance, and competitive sports events. Sunday’s testimony meeting put a memorable touch on a great gathering.

I would like to finish today by recounting an experience in early Church history having to do with Israel Barlow. He was one of those who went up the Mississippi River from Quincy and helped scout out the area that later became Nauvoo. He lived in Nauvoo and came west with the Saints as one of the early pioneers. In the early 1850s he was attending a general conference of the Church.

It was in that meeting that Israel Barlow heard his name mentioned from the pulpit. In those days, this was how the brethren were called on missions. Israel Barlow was called on a mission to Great Britain. He didn’t have to have an interview. He didn’t have to have a medical examination. He was called to go on a mission. He had a family and was just getting started in his new area, so it was no small sacrifice to answer the call from the presidency of the Church. But he had enough faith that this was what he knew he must do. His wife was supportive of him, but she asked him for one favor on his way to the mission field. Would he stop at their old farm in Nauvoo and find where they had buried their firstborn child and remove the grave to the Old Nauvoo Burial Ground? He said he would do this, and he made his way back across the Mississippi River and came up to Nauvoo.

He went to the farm and got the permission of the people who lived there to look for and move the grave. He said that at first he could not find it, but then he located it because his wife had planted ground cover around it. When he dug down, he felt that the grave was in such a condition that it could not be moved. According to his journal, he said to himself that he would leave it to the morning of the first resurrection and hoped that his wife would understand. As he turned away to continue his journey up the river and on to Great Britain, he turned back one more time just to be sure that he had made the right decision. He again felt that nothing more could be done, and as he turned away again he said that words came into his mind so clear that he knew he had not put them there. These words were, “Daddy, don’t leave me here!” He said he stopped and took the necessary time and effort to move the grave of his firstborn child to the Old Nauvoo Burial Ground.

After he had completed the work, he said that he spent some time by the grave feeling this bond between himself and his firstborn child before he left, not knowing if he would return. To our knowledge, he never did return to the site. (See Ora H. Barlow, The Israel Barlow Story and Mormon Mores [Salt Lake City: Publishers Press, 1968], pp. 300–308.)

Grandma came to our house last Friday to make jelly. She gave Mom two big brown paper sacks full of plums. All morning Mom and Grandma filled jars with hot pink stuff that was jelly when it cooled. It is the best-tasting jelly in the whole world! I know because once Grandma gave me some when I was at her house.
Mom and Grandma were so busy that I helped by making my own sandwich for lunch. After all the jars were lined up on the kitchen counter to cool, Grandma went home.
The next day I counted fifteen jars of jelly when I helped Mom put them away. I thought she’d put them in our food storage, but she didn’t.
After lunch Mom asked me to take a jar of the jelly to Mrs. Conner. Mrs. Conner is a grouchy lady who lives next door to us. She always yells at me if I cut through her yard or if she thinks I am making too much noise. But she smiled and thanked me when I gave her the jelly.
Later Sister Moreno came to go visiting teaching with Mom. They took six more jars of plum jelly with them.
Sunday we took another jar of jelly to church for Brother Jones. He’s really nice. One time he came into Primary and showed us some wooden toys he’d made in his basement workshop. I like Brother Jones, and I was glad he got some of the jelly.
We gave a jar to each pair of missionaries too. I hope someone gives me some when I’m a missionary!
Dad took another jar with him on Monday. He gave it to the man he rides to work with. And when Aunt Julie stopped by on her way home from the store, Mom gave her a jar of jelly.
I looked up at the shelf and counted the jars again. It didn’t take very long. There were only three jars left. Mom was giving all the jelly away! I went into the living room where she was reading and asked, “Why are we giving all our jelly away?”
She looked at me for a moment. “That’s why we made it—to give away,” she said. “Grandma and I made it to give to people we love, to let them know that we care about them. I think Grandma may have some more plums, Danny. If she does, would you like to help me make some more jelly?”
“Jelly to keep?” I asked her.
“You bet,” she said. “And maybe there will be enough for you to give to some of your friends too.”
The next morning when I looked at the shelf, there were only two jars of jelly left. The third jar was in front of my plate. Taped to the front of the jar was a note that said: Danny’s jelly to keep (because we love him)

The senior and junior seminary class from the Monrovia California First and Second Wards found out. The 12 students in the combined early-morning seminary class were planning some activities for the year. They had planned some parties and worked on some service projects, but their teacher, Sue Cornwall, encouraged them to think of an activity that might include some of their friends from school. Instead of serving breakfast one morning just to themselves, they decided to invite a few of their friends just to show these friends where they went and what they did every weekday morning before school.

“In October, we each invited a friend,” said Jenny Dequer. “We had about 25 total. We just sat around, talked, and had breakfast.” It was supposed to be such a simple thing. They had an opening prayer and a spiritual thought. It was low key, just a chance to let friends see where they met and what they talked about.

It worked once, so why not try again? By February, the seminary students held their second Bring a Friend to Seminary Breakfast. This time they wanted to see how many people they could get to come. Many in the class weren’t shy about inviting friends, acquaintances, anyone they ran into from school. They wrote notes to people and made it the topic of conversation around their lockers. And if they hadn’t mentioned the breakfast to their friends, the friends were soon asking what was going on. “My friends came and asked me about it,” said Chris Miller. “I hadn’t said anything to them. But they wanted to come.”

“We tried to get as many people as we could,” said Nora. “Everyone invited a lot of people. We had about 70.” What Nora didn’t mention was that she had invited 30 or 40 people herself.

This time they prepared a fun, lighthearted video. The class had been studying the Old Testament, so a Bible story seemed a natural. They made a rather humorous and certainly unique version of the story of David and Goliath. David Vaughn seemed the natural choice to play David, and new class member Doug played Goliath. The audience loved it. Some of their friends, who had little religious background, asked, “Who were David and Goliath?” The class members were glad to fill in the more serious details of what can be learned from this story.

The third and final Friend Breakfast was held right before school let out. They went all out, cooking a full-fledged breakfast with the help of some members of the two wards. More than a hundred people attended. This time, the video was more personal and direct. Each class member was interviewed about the things they believe. The humor was still there with baby and growing-up pictures mixed in with each class member speaking from the heart.

Did anyone listen? Was anyone fed anything besides fruit, sausage, and eggs?

Apparently so. Since that final breakfast of the school year, four more of their friends have joined the Church. Although seminary isn’t held when school is on vacation, the students pull these new members into their Mutual activities and into their Sunday School classes.

These seminary students started with a simple plan just to explain to their friends what seminary is. It turned out that when they presented what they had, those who were hungry for direction in their lives feasted on the words of Christ.

Another Mormon boy was sent east to an officers’ training school. A new commanding officer came into the camp, and they put on a banquet to honor him. There, by every plate, was a cocktail glass. When the proper time came, every one of those potential officers stood up with his cocktail glass to toast that incoming officer. All but one boy, and he raised a glass of milk.
Well, the officer saw it. He made a beeline for that boy after the entertainment was over, and he said, “Why did you toast me with a glass of milk?”
“Well, officer,” he said, “I’ve never touched liquor in my life. I don’t want to touch it; my parents wouldn’t want me to touch it; and I didn’t think you would want me to either. And I wanted to toast you, so I thought you would be satisfied if I toasted you with what I am accustomed to drinking.”
The officer said, “You report at headquarters in the morning,” and told him what time.
I suppose that boy spent a sleepless night, but when he went into the officer’s quarters the next morning, the officer assigned him a place on his staff with this explanation: “I want to surround myself with men who have the courage to do what they think is right regardless of what anybody else thinks about it.”

When I came home from my mission, my bishop called me to be the priests quorum adviser. He said, "I want you to teach on Sunday and attend mutual every week." I thought at the time that he was asking a lot of a young returned missionary who was working a lot of hours, carrying a heavy load in school and running hard to catch up to his future wife. I soon realized, that my bishop was inspired. The Lord knew that I needed the spiritual balance of a significant calling during those years. I am so grateful today for the gift of that calling. I was engaged and I received so many blessings because of it. Subsequent callings have also been a source of great blessings for me. Church service is a gift given by a loving Heavenly Father who knows where true happiness is found.

I know that I have an elder brother Jesus Christ. He is my Savior and Redeemer. Without his atoning sacrifice none of us would have any hope of every returning to live with our Heavenly Father again. Next to his atoning sacrifice I am grateful for the perfect example that he has set for me to follow. I will conclude with a personal experience that illustrates this concept.

A year and a half ago our beautiful two-year old daughter passed away. Through the long night before she died I sat at her bedside in the Intensive Care Unit at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City ,Utah. As I held her hand, I prayed silently, but constantly that Heavenly Father would spare her life and that she would be restored to health. Being a Registered Nurse, I watched anxiously for any sign of improvement in her condition. As the dawn came, signaling the beginning of a new day, so did the realization that not only was her condition not improving, but it was deteriorating. The doctors gave us no hope. I, at that point, had to contemplate what my life would be like without her. I could not imagine it. She was my baby and she liked me. I couldn’t comprehend living the rest of my mortal existence without her here with me. I began to silently plead with my Heavenly Father. I begged him not to make me go through it. I told him it was too hard and I couldn’t do it. Somewhere in the midst of my pleading, words came into my mind. They were the words of my Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane where he suffered beyond anything that I, as a mortal, can comprehend. He pleaded with our Heavenly Father to not make Him go through it. But then came His concluding words, “Not my will, but Thine be done.” With all of the courage, hope, trust, and faith I could muster, I silently concluded, not my will, but Thine be done.

Within an hour as my husband and I rocked her, still connected to life support, she was gently lifted from our arms and returned to our Heavenly Father. As we drove the 3 ½ hours to home in silence, there were many things that went through my mind. One that I shamefully admit thinking, “Heavenly Father, I sure hope you know what you are doing.” because taking her had left such a huge hole in our family and in our hearts.

When we walked into our family room that day, all ten of our children were there along with our two little grandchildren. Our returned missionary son was reading from the scriptures about where Kaylie, our little daughter had gone. Our then, three-year old son ran up and hugged my legs and then looked up at me and asked, “Mommy, how long are you going to be sad?” My response was immediate and without thought. I told him that I was going to be sad forever because at that moment, it truly seemed like I would be sad forever. But then I had to stop and think. Really, how long would I be sad? I would be sad until I was with Kaylie again and if I looked at it in eternal perspective, this life is but a moment. I would be sad, but a moment and than I would be with Kaylie again.

We then sat down and talked as a family about why we were sad that day. We decided we were sad because one of us was missing. We concluded that is how sad we would be in the next life if one of us was missing because we did not make right choices in this life, only then, it truly would be forever. We made a vow that day that we would try harder to live worthily to be with our Heavenly Father and Kaylie again. If you were to come into our home today, you would notice tucked in the corner of each of our temple pictures, a wallet size photo of Kaylie in her little white dress taken just three weeks before she died. A constant reminder of the commitment we made to each other to be together in the eternities.

A few years ago we were in a financial position to purchase a new vehicle. I had always wanted a particular truck brand and with the help of my youngest son we chose a nice four door truck. Shortly after buying this shiny new truck, I was returning home late one evening from the chapel and heard something hit the right side of the truck. It sounded like a rock. When I got home, I checked the truck and was relieved to see it hadn’t been a rock which could have caused some noticeable damage. It was just a raw egg that hit my truck. I decided it could wait until the morning to be cleaned. Well, the next morning came and I forgot about cleaning it. Several days later I remembered my commitment to clean off the remnants of the raw egg. When I went outside to do the cleaning, I was surprised to see the area where I had intended on simply wiping off the raw egg. The velocity at which the egg was thrown plus elapsed time plus the heat of the noon day sun had taken a toll on the area where the egg hit the truck. What remained was an imprint of a shattered eggshell etched into the paint of our new truck. I purchased car paint from a store and tried to match it to the truck. It was off by a few shades and I couldn’t get the smoothness or shine to match the brand new truck. Although I could have paid extra money to have the work professionally done, we decided to just let it be. So it remained an obvious mismatch for many years. In retrospect, my early attention to this matter would have most likely had favorable results. My postponed inattention to this matter left a long lasting reminder to tend to our commitments early.

Illustration by Rafael Mayani
A few years ago I was depressed because I felt like I had no one to talk to. My family was distant and I had no friends, so I couldn’t fathom the idea of living anymore.
I was living with my aunt and uncle, and the only thing they told me not to do was talk to the neighbor. They claimed he was strange, and they made up stories about him to scare me off.
However, one Saturday he and two teenage girls my age asked for my help with building a fence. I agreed and got to work.
After observing these girls, I realized they were nice, so I started talking with them, which led to a conversation about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had so many questions, which they answered. I became intrigued. My neighbor invited me to go to church with him the next day to see how I liked it. I was at a low point in my life, so I figured I had nothing to lose.
Walking through those doors the following morning, I felt an instant inner peace that I didn’t understand, but I knew this church was where I had to be. I was introduced to the missionaries that morning, and I saw how they knew the Church to be true.
I began to listen to the various lessons from the missionaries. I couldn’t have asked Heavenly Father to send me those two loving, caring, and spiritual missionaries at a better time. Through their help I gained the knowledge they had about the gospel.
After listening to them share how their knowledge of Heavenly Father helped them through trials, I felt like I should pray to see if what they had said was true. After praying, I felt an intense feeling of happiness, peace, and calmness inside me. I knew that I had received my answer that night through the Holy Ghost.
Having this knowledge, my testimony has grown rapidly. Since joining the Church in 2013, I have definitely seen the blessings that the knowledge of our Heavenly Father has given me. I am thankful for those missionaries and for my neighbor inviting me to come unto Christ.